The Stubborn Love Series: Books 1-5 Contemporary Romance Series

by Wendy Owens

  I start to sketch the lines of a futuristic looking set of fenders, but all it reminds me of are the curves of Kenz’s thighs. Anger burns in my stomach and I’m ready to shout at the top of my lungs to Kenzie just how pissed off I am that she’s playing these games at this point in our relationship. If only she would answer me when I call her. Flipping the sketchbook closed in frustration, I make my way over to the couch and plop down for a quick game of Grand Theft Auto.

  Chapter Seven

  Kenzie

  * * *

  I tossed and turned for most of the night, every terrible scene running through my head. This photography assistant gig is supposed to be a turning point of change, a fresh start, but all I can seem to imagine is every which way it can go wrong. I’m determined not to allow my sleep deprivation or nighttime anxieties determine how the day will play out. On a positive note, I’m not thinking about Ben … much.

  What does a photographer’s assistant wear? I went through several outfits this morning trying to answer just that question. The one my mother suggested made me look like a mime that would be performing at an awkward and tortured child's birthday party. My selection apparently wasn’t much better, since the great deliverer of my life suggested I looked like cat woman. I settled on a comfortable pair of slim-fit dark denim jeans and a black t-shirt, covered by a gray, form-fitted blazer, just to be on the safe side, and ballet flats.

  The cab pulls up in front of what can best be described as a warehouse straight out of a horror slasher movie. I hesitate, then repeat the address on the card. The cab driver nods to let me know it’s the right place. I look out the window again.

  “Do you need me to take you somewhere else?” the driver asks. The look in his eyes tells me he’s as worried about my safety as I suddenly am.

  You can do this, Kenzie. A couple of hours and you double what’s in your bank account, I think to myself. I shake my head, take a deep breath, “I’m good, thanks.” I hand him the $12 fare and hope he doesn’t say anything about the lack of tip.

  The driver sits for another moment. I smile at him, and with a disapproving look that translates by the narrowing of his eyes, he pulls away from the curb.

  I climb the stairs that lead to an old metal door. Painted on the door are the numbers five, one, three. I glance back at the crumpled card in my hand for at least the tenth time, confirming the address again, swallow hard, and reach up to the black box on the right of the door and press the buzzer.

  There’s a muffled voice on the other end that I don’t recognize, unsure if it’s Aiden, or for that matter what the voice said. I press the button again and nearly shout, “it’s Kenzie, we met at the diner last night.”

  The sound of metal sliding on metal rings out from the other side of the door, and with a grunt, it pulls open. Aiden is standing in the opening, and I sigh a breath of relief when I see he’s wearing a similar choice to me; jeans and a t-shirt.

  He smiles, and I notice exactly how perfect his teeth are. Shady warehouse or not, I’m sure that smile was bought; he wasn’t born poor, that much is certain.

  “Kenzie!” He nearly shouts my name. I stiffen and jump backward, making him laugh. “Sorry, after you left the other night I realized I never even got your name. I just heard you say it when I was opening the door.”

  “Oh—” I don’t know what to say. I want to tell him everything about the night we met was totally weird, and he should probably work on his interviewing skills, but I really want the $200, so I say nothing.

  There’s an awkward silence lingering between us until he stiffens and moves to the side to let me enter, “Come in.”

  I smile uncomfortably moving past him. “So, do you get a lot of clients willing to come out here?”

  “Not impressed with my studio?” His question worries me that I may have offended him.

  “Oh no, that’s not what I meant—” I stammer as I climb the stairs up the narrow hallway that’s painted black. We both know that’s exactly what I meant. “It’s just … well, the neighborhood is—”

  “It’s what?” he presses, now slightly irritated.

  I top the stairs, all words falling away when I take in the open floor plan. Half of the space is painted black and the other half white. A kitchen that appears as if it were taken directly from the pages of a home design magazine is in the middle.

  “It’s what?” He asks again, but I’ve forgotten what I was talking about.

  “Huh?” I grunt, realizing my mouth is hanging open.

  He moves past me, shaking his head. “Welcome to my studio. And to answer your question, my clients don’t mind the location at all.”

  Say something. What the hell do I say?

  “You’ll be working over here,” he continues, moving to an area with large umbrellas and a black backdrop.

  “So you remember, I told you that I have no experience with this stuff, right?” I reiterate.

  He stops, his eyes narrow, and his head dips slightly as he looks me up and down, “you seem sturdy enough to handle them.”

  I’m not sure if that was a compliment or if I should be offended. “Handle them?” I attempt to clarify.

  My eyes dart around the room, searching for some hint of who we might be working with. My mind drifts. Could it be dancing ballerina divas? A charming team of rippling muscled NFL players? A fetish club, eager to document a bit of bondage in photographs for their website? There are no images on the walls. No clues of—

  A sound echoes throughout the loft. A sound that isn’t human.

  “What was that?” I gasp, staring at him apprehensively.

  “Our clients for the day. We should probably get started, though. We only have them for a few hours.” He explains, not bothering to look at me as he busies himself with some of the photography equipment on the far side of the room. Behind him are large photographs mounted on the walls of animals ranging from giraffes to lions. The lines of the black and white images add elegance to them. I’m hoping our subjects aren’t quite as … imposing.

  “Are those yours?” I ask motioning toward the images with my eyes.

  Impatiently he fiddles with an umbrella that seems insistent on not staying open. He doesn’t move his attention as he responds, “yeah, my last trip to Africa.”

  “Wow, that must have been exciting.”

  “Damn it,” he grumbles, his jaw tenses.

  Make yourself useful Kenzie, I remind myself. I move across the room with a quickness, placing one hand on the umbrella with which Aiden is fighting and the other on his hand. He freezes, our eyes connect. His warm skin sends an electrifying tingle up my arms and back down my spine, settling in my thighs. I watch him, thinking I should say something.

  “Here, let me,” I manage at last.

  He pulls his hands away sharply, releasing the umbrella. His eyebrows knit together, before he turns, “there’s a backup in the storage room.”

  I shake my head, “I think I can fix it.”

  “We’re on a tight schedule,” he moans, aggravated. It’s quickly becoming evident he won’t be easy to work with.

  I narrow my gaze on the tension mechanism and see that a sliver of the umbrella fabric is trapped in it. Digging in a nail, I free it with a grunt, opening the umbrella. I exclaim, “Got it!”

  “Can you get our first subject?” he asks, unimpressed with my achievement.

  I place the umbrella on the ground next to where he’s positioning a large gray cloth. My head snaps toward the tall curtain that’s hiding the source of the whimpering noises. I try to place the sound, imagining everything from a harmless goat all the way to the lion that was staring at me from the photograph on the wall.

  Quit being silly, Kenzie. He wouldn’t send you in there if it were something that could eat you. Would he? I swallow the lump in my throat, reminding myself once again of the $200.

  “We don’t have all day,” he grumps impatiently, moving the umbrella into place over a light to the left of the backdrop.

>   Apprehensively, I stretch out an arm to pull back the curtain, holding my breath as I do so. My eyes widen, a bright smile beams from my face as I sigh a huge breath of relief. “Puppies!” I squeal.

  He gasps as if the word is the most repugnant one on earth. “Pick one,” he adds sternly.

  “They’re so adorable,” I note, ignoring his sour attitude. I step over the waist-high fence, dodging a stray puddle as I do so. I’m rushed by at least a dozen puppies, ranging in breeds. I stumble back, landing on my bottom with a thud. A smattering of wet puppy kisses come at me like a tidal wave.

  I can hear the “Humph!” across the room. I fight the urge to tell him to ‘suck it up, buttercup.’ Knowing that’s probably the quickest way to not replenish my bank account, I hold my tongue.

  “Sorry,” I giggle, avoiding the numerous tongues, trying to angle their way into my open mouth. I struggle to my knees, wrestling the first wriggling puppy I can grasp under my arm. It appears it might have chow in it, but definitely a mixed breed.

  I cross back over the barrier with the pup tucked snuggly in my grasp. It’s quickly evident this dog seems to be hopped up on caffeine or some other less than legal substance. I decide the only way he’s going to pose is if I can manage to get him to calm down.

  “Do you have any chew toys?” I ask.

  “Really?” Aiden asks with the camera pressed into his hip as he impatiently waits for me.

  I bite my lip, telling myself again I need to remain quiet, but I can’t. I was hired to do a job, and this is part of my job. I frown. “Look, these dogs are about to explode with energy. Do you want to be able to get a decent shot of them?”

  His chin drops. I like that I’ve, if only briefly, left him at a loss for words.

  “Do you have anything I can use to tire him out?” I ask again.

  He huffs, then begrudgingly nods, placing the camera on the window ledge near him. “Uh—yeah, I think the shelter left a box of stuff when they dropped them off.”

  My insides melt into goo when I hear the revelation that these beautiful specimens of fur-babies are shelter lovelies. Aiden grabs a cardboard box next to the pen of now whimpering and yapping puppies. He lifts one leg over the wall and then the other.

  “Watch out for the—” I start. Before I can finish my statement, as if in slow motion, I watch in horror as both his feet slip and slide upward, out from under him, the box landing on his chest as he hits the floor, sending squeaky toys flying in every direction.

  “Shit!” he exclaims, coming down with a thud.

  I wince. “I was going to say watch out for the pee puddle.”

  He leans to one side, examining the floor underneath him before moaning, “No, my description was more accurate.”

  I laugh, not waiting to see if he finds the same humor in the situation.

  He gives an unwilling smile as he struggles to stand, valiantly trying not to spread the mess any further. Without a word I scoop my new puppy buddy back up and dart over to retrieve a roll of paper towels from the kitchen counter.

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t laugh, but that was funny as hell,” I offer, extending him a sheet.

  He laughs warmly, and I sigh a breath of relief. I think I still have the job, and I like his laugh. “Can you handle this while I get cleaned up?” he asks me.

  I salute awkwardly, wishing immediately I could cut my arm off and beat myself with it, “On it, boss.”

  He tilts his head, delivering me an uncomfortable glance before stepping over the fence and moving in the direction of what I assume is his bathroom. I place my new best friend into the enclosed area so he can fight for the new littering of toys, flipping the now empty box over the smearing of puppy poo. I act fast, pulling off the last paper towel square from the cardboard roll. Of course.

  After rummaging through the most obvious cabinets for where a replacement roll should be, I cross over to the room Aiden had recently stolen away to. With a few firm taps on the door I call out through the thick wood, “Where do you keep the extra paper towels?”

  Much to my surprise the door opens, and standing in front of me is Holy Hotness McStormy Eyes in nothing but a towel, wrapped around his waist.

  “I—uh—you.” Before I can control them, my eyes travel up and down his sturdy build of wide shoulders, firm chest, and I quickly remind myself as they continue south to lift my focus back up to his sharp and angular jaw. Damn it, those strong arms and bulky shoulders keep distracting me, and pulling my gaze to his nether regions.

  “What?” he asks shaking his head with a confused look on his face.

  I lift the empty cardboard paper towel roll into the air as if it’s some sort of Olympic torch, but my words still fail me. He clears his throat, and I’m confident he’s satisfied with the effect his surprise bare chestedness has had on me. Finally, he answers my silent question. “In the closet to the right, by the top of the stairs.”

  I nod before he continues, “I’m going to take a quick shower, okay?”

  All I can think is that what he’s telling me is that he’s going to be removing that towel from his sculpted physique and allowing hot and steamy water to run all over his chiseled form. And how I should know that the beads of liquid will most certainly be finding their way into all those well-defined crevices.

  “Yeah, okay.” I choke out the words at last.

  He gives me one last look; a single brow cocks up, telling me I’m weird. Not just any run of the mill weird, we’re talking foil hats and long twisty toenail weird. The door clicks shut, and I slap a hand on my forehead, sliding it down, gripping my face, as if there’s a chance I could wipe the embarrassment away.

  I shake my head and turn, wasting no time as I retrieve the paper towels, and clean up the gag-tastic smelling mess, and the much more harmless pee puddle while I’m at it. Several silent moments tick by, me thinking of the toned ass that’s naked on the other side of the wall, when I remember how the sudden nakedness happened in the first place. There are some severely cute puppies calling my name. My waning concentration is reaffirmed with a new mission. Time to tire out some cuddly puppies.

  Chapter Eight

  Kenzie

  * * *

  The water from the shower stops. I hear random sounds behind the closed door, and instinctively my eyes are drawn to the bathroom. A moment later, the door opens. Oh. My. Good. God. A billowing cloud of steam escapes first, followed by the bare-chested and exquisitely chiseled frame of Aiden Calloway. His features are a sharp contrast to those of Ben. Instead of thick, jet-black short hair and dark features, Aiden’s brown hair is longer, falling just to the tips of his ears. His chest is a smooth track begging for my fingers to run across it. His full and sensual bottom lip creates an ache deep within me. I know I should look away, but I don’t. Instead, my eyes wander to the towel knotted at his narrow waist, wishing it would lose its hold for just a moment and fall to the floor.

  Kenz, you just broke up with the love of your life, and you’re ogling a practical stranger. This is a job! I force my eyes away, focusing on the dozen adorable faces peering up at me, each eagerly waiting for me to toss a coveted chew toy. I hope he hadn’t seen my momentary lapse in manners. I didn’t need him thinking my lingering eyes meant something they didn’t. I’m not looking for Mr. Rebound, I tell myself biting my bottom lip. Though, if I were, he would be perfect.

  He steps behind a half wall to dress. Something pulls my eyes back in his direction as he steps back out. I feel my jaw drop open slightly when my gaze connects with him. His broad shoulders fill out a white t-shirt that sticks to various still damp spots on his body.

  Aiden motions toward the oversized gray sweatpants cinched at his waist. I shake my head, surprised at how the loose material serves more to tease me than downplay his body.

  “Sorry, everything else I have is already packed,” he says. I’m surprised when I see his eyes move over me, taking a thorough appraisal. My face flushes with warmth.

  I fight the desire to as
k him what he’s packed for, reminding myself of the cash waiting for me at the end of the job. Shut up and keep your eye on the prize.

  I smile and murmur, “I think I’ve managed to tire them out.”

  He looks over my shoulder, noticing that the once-yapping pack of beasts are now sitting calmly and eagerly waiting for my next move.

  “Wow, you’re like the dog whisperer or something.” The cool exterior he greeted me with when I first arrived apparently melted away while he was in the shower and left behind what appeared to be a civil human being.

  “Thanks, I guess,” I say, focusing on the animals.

  I do my job. What I’m being paid to do. Focusing on each puppy, making sure Aiden has nothing to worry about except getting the perfect shot. I try to anticipate every need before he asks. His eyes shift to the lighting, so I pop up to adjust it. He tilts his head, unsure of the puppy’s position, so I add a pillow for the dachshund to hop onto, its bottom half hanging off and wagging wildly. I’m the perfect assistant. An assistant who avoids staring at her insanely sexy boss, and instead, handles her job with the utmost professionalism. It isn’t easy.

  Aiden’s eyes no longer linger either. He’s in the zone, his attention completely on what’s happening through the camera lens. It’s exciting, and I feel like I’m part of creating something, even if it’s just a charity calendar for a shelter. Best of all, I’m not thinking about Ben.

  The work is done. I place the puppies back in their crates and wait, off to the side. “What will happen to them?” I say in an almost whisper, half expecting him not to answer me.

  His focus is on his camera, as he plugs a cable into the side of it and then into the computer on the small desk by the window. He glances over briefly, before returning his attention to the screen, images suddenly popping up. “The dogs?” he starts, then shrugs. “These twelve, I suppose they’ll be the lucky ones.”